The Ghost of Lolita
by Smurfing Mother Smurfer
Summary: After being betrayed and cast aside by her supposed 'true love', 18-yr old Lo has little interest in making things right. Instead, she turns to something a bit darker. Leaving the X-Men and joining the Brotherhood will be the best mistake she's ever made.


The clock was feeling talkative that day. It broke through the uncomfortable silence every second in its steady rhythm, almost as though afraid that we would ignore it. Yes, clock, I know, I know. Time is passing by. You can stop reminding us now. We remember.

But even as chatty as the clock was, the stranger across from me did not speak a word. We continued this perpetual staring contest for about five minutes, examining one another. I looked at him from the top of his bald head down to the hem of his white coat and then to the helm of his wheelchair. Is this the way doctors treated all their patients? Curing them with long nail-biting stares, making an assessment out of nothing but a first impression?

It made me wonder; which of us was doing the majority of the inquiring-him or I?

The clock screamed out its little four-in-the-afternoon siren. It was just a little chime, but it seemed louder today, owing to the fact that everything else was eerily still. My parents were in the next room, probably listening in through the doorway nosily. I knew what they were waiting for. _"Another six month stay at the mental hospital, another dose of diazepam, another refill of anti-anxieties…" _That's what they wanted.

The bald psychiatrist took a deep breath, increasing the anxiety in the air tenfold with just a tiny gesture.

"What do you prefer I call you?" he asked me kindly, folding his hands on his knees. "Delores? Lola? Lolita?"

"Lo." I answered him quickly. I didn't dare make contact with his eyes. Instead, I rubbed my fingertips together and watched them closely. "Just Lo is alright."

The doctor nodded. "Alright then," he said in a soft voice, leaning in a bit closer in preparation for an intimate talk. "Lo," he said. "My name is Professor Xavier. I think you're aware of why I'm here today."

I nodded, feeling my cheeks warm slightly. "You're here because my parents called for you. Because I'm sick." The words themselves tasted bitter in my mouth. Something was starting to well up in the pit of my gut; something familiar and unpleasant. It was the very thing that had put me in this mess.

_Not here, _I thought to myself, trying desperately to push the feeling back. _This isn't right._

"You're not sick, my dear." Xavier interrupted my internal conflict with a kindly pat on the hand. He was smiling at me. "You see," he said. "There are people who are different. People like you and I who aren't the same as everyone else. It doesn't mean you're sick, Delores. You're an eighteen year old girl with gifts far more advanced than today's society could possibly imagine. And there's a place for people like you to grow and develop. That's why I'm here, Lo."

I furrowed my brow. Was this just another hallucination? Or maybe this guy was just trying to mess with me, to see if I was really crazy. He didn't need to test it; we both knew I was a raving lunatic. There was no other way to explain the things that I did.

"You're trying to trick me." I said flatly, pulling my hand away. "It won't work."

Professor Xavier smiled. Just smiled. In his crystal blue eyes, I saw a little flicker of something unusual. He looked down at the coffee table between us, his gaze set upon a particular china cup that was not quite fancy and not quite plain. It was normal, like my parents and all the good people on the earth who told me I was bad. They didn't make walls rattle every time they trembled. They didn't make the sinks burst and the storms cloud over every time they cried. They were good. They were perfect. And this little cup, sitting there all meek and mild, was a wonderful example of the pure lifestyle that all of these normal people lived by.

But then something unexpected happened. That little cup quivered and began to rise up into the air. It floated a few inches above the glass table, and then rose to eye-level between Xavier and I. Still, his gaze was firmly locked.

Was he making this happen?

"Delores," he said, smiling. "I want to help you."

…

There's something timelessly entertaining about making shapes on a fogged car window. Nothing about it was ever outgrown. I pressed my forehead against the cold glass and my hair stuck to it like long, burgundy-red cobwebs. With one pale finger, I outlined the shape of a sun. It was quite a contrast to the image on the other side. It was a cold, rainy day in mid-autumn here in Westchester; the wind was chilling, the sky was gray, and dead leaves were scampering across the ground in no discernible pattern. These days reminded me of myself in a way. As a baby, I wasn't rosy-cheeked and pink. My mother told me as a small child that I was born 'fair like the moon', and that's why I was so pale and wide-eyed. But I wasn't like the moon at all. I was ashen and sickly, anemic just like the trees whose leaves were being ripped away in the cold October air. It was a perfect day to be alone. But I wasn't alone this time. Right now, I was in the passenger's seat of a man's car-a man whom I had met less than an hour ago-and he was taking me away to a place that I would call home.

"So, Professor." I said quietly, wiping away my crudely drawn sun. "This hospital, is it-?"

"We're not going to a hospital." Xavier interrupted. I looked over and saw a little smirk on the side of his face. Was he still trying to trick me? Or maybe, just maybe, this was nothing more than a very vivid and imaginative dream that would soon be over and never plague me again. That must be it. Yes. This is just a troublesome dream.

Nevertheless…dream or no dream, all these secrets were still nagging at me.

"Alright, then what is it?" I asked bluntly.

Xavier slowed the car down at the red light and took a quick look at me; my skeptical expression, my arms crossed, the dull stare of disbelief in my jade green eyes.

"It's a school." he stated proudly. "While you attend your senior year of high school, you'll be enrolled in several classes for developing your unique gifts. We provide you a room of your own and everything you require as well as the practice you need to sharpen your…talents."

I scoffed humorously. "I don't have talents." I told him flatly. "There's nothing special about me."

Xavier chuckled pleasantly. "My dear," he said. "If that was true, you wouldn't be where you're sitting right now."

He looked over at me with a gentle sort of sharpness. His eyes were powerful, even when mellow, as though he was constantly piercing his way into your mind.

"You can make things real, Lo." He told me. "Can't you?" But he wasn't telling me with his vocal cords; his mouth was closed and his voice was simply ringing in my head. I looked closer, trying to see even the smallest gap between his lips. Perhaps this was just another hallucination. I closed my eyes tightly and opened them again.

Professor Xavier was smiling. He took a breath and began talking casually again, as though it didn't happen. "You have a very special gift." he said to me kindly. "It's not psychosis, and it's not just in your mind. It's a genetic mutation in your DNA. What you have is called 'mental projection'. Have you heard of it?"

Still dumbstruck by the words 'genetic mutation', I shook my head naïvely.

"Mental projection," the professor continued. "is your ability to create changes in the physical world with subconscious thoughts. Let me ask you this, Lo; what happened the last time you woke up from a very unpleasant dream?"

I sat with my mouth agape, all of my thoughts spinning together at once. I barely managed to collect myself enough to answer his question, and still it kept me sitting there thinking for a good time.

But oddly enough, it was starting to make sense. I could remember the last time I woke up sweating in the middle of the night, and I recalled the things that I felt. I didn't understand then. All I considered were the answers my parents gave me-hallucinations, sleepwalking, insomnia, a work of my own imagination. Until now, I hadn't let it cross my mind again.

"I…I was in my room." I began, staring blankly out the dashboard and replaying the event in my mind. "I opened my eyes…my things were scattered all over. I was so cold, I could see my breath. And the ceiling fan, it was twisted." I moved my hands in the shape of crooked propellers, mimicking exactly what was playing in my head.

"And that happened quite often, didn't it?" Professor Xavier asked.

I nodded truthfully, still in disbelief. How can it be that something so strange can make so much sense? This was the most confusing moment of my life, but yet it seemed to be the answer to all the questions I had been begging to have answered. The temperature changes, the objects moving, the walls warping, the rain going up the window instead of down…was this real?

Well, if I wasn't insane, that was the only other solution. If it isn't a hallucination and it isn't a lie, then it must be true. There must have been a day when I made the cups melt and the floor shake and the raindrops go back up into the sky. These were real things. These were not lies. They were never lies.

That one question was answered for me. Among a thousand others, there was one more that I needed to know at that very moment, before I could go any further.

"Professor." I swallowed nervously. "…What am I?"


End file.
